devilstone chronicles 01 - devils band (39 page)

For his part, Thomas learned how to integrate his company into the pike square or fight in open order but his men’s successful performance on the parade ground only added fuel to their captain’s impatience. He knew that at any moment the White Rose might be carried off by a culverin ball or succumb to the camp fever that put more men in their graves than any battle, but the feasts of Christmastide passed and still Lannoy refused to budge. It wasn’t until the end of January that the imperial commander-in-chief finally obeyed his emperor and gave the order to march.

21

THE FIVE ABBEYS

T
he 30,000 men of Lannoy’s army arrived before the city of Pavia on the 2
^nd
of February 1525 but instead of making an immediate surprise attack on the demoralised French, Lannoy ordered his men to build a huge fortified camp around the
Casa de Levrieri
. This abandoned villa, which lay a mile to the north east of the city, occupied a strategic point overlooking both the
Porta de Levrieri
, the eastern gate into the deer park, and the five fortified monasteries that guarded the road from Pavia to Lodi. Facing Lannoy’s 24,000 German and Neapolitan
landsknechts
, supported by 6,000 Spanish horsemen, were 8,000 Swiss
reisläufer
. Of these 5,000, under the Seigneur de la Flourance, were stationed along the eastern walls of the deer park whilst 3,000, under the Duc de Montmorency, garrisoned the Five Abbeys.

Though the imperials boasted overwhelming numbers, Lannoy did not want to waste valuable men in a bloody assault. Instead, like Caesar at Alesia, he decided to besiege
the besiegers and use his guns to batter the French into submission. He therefore ordered his men to construct gun-pits, protected by ramparts, palisades, and trenches, and though the frozen earth was as hard as moneylender’s heart, the imperial siege works progressed quickly. All the while, their enemies watched the net closing around them and did nothing. Apart from a few lazy cannon shots and some easily repulsed patrols, neither Flourance or Montmorency made any serious attempt to interfere with the construction of the imperial camp.

“Why don’t the fools attack whilst we’re busy shovelling baskets of frozen shit?” grumbled Bos as he watched a group of his men filling wicker gabions with earth and placing them in the front of the gun pit they were building.

“The French are no fools, they know we outnumber them, so unless Francis can concentrate his entire strength against us any attack will be crushed. On the other hand, if he weakens any point in his own siege lines the imperial garrison will break out,” said Prometheus.

“At least it’s us giving the orders for a change and I’m delighted to sit on my fat sergeant’s arse watching other people work,” said Quintana happily but as he spoke, Thomas returned from a meeting of Frundsberg’s captains with the last news the Portugee wanted to hear.

“It seems as if the emperor’s getting fed up with paying for an army that won’t fight, he’s demanding something in return for his gold and we have been chosen to supply it,” said Thomas excitedly and he informed his sergeants that The Duke of Bourbon was going to lead three
fähnleins
against the fortified abbeys at dusk.

“By the bruised thumbs of the Holy Carpenter how could you do this to me Thomas? We’ll all be shot to pieces!” groaned Quintana.

“Cease your mewling Portugee, at least you’ll have a chance for your plunder. Papist abbeys are stuffed full of the gold paid by sinners in the hope of buying their way out of Hell,” said Bos.

“You speak the truth Frisian, and as the pope of Rome is in schism with the true Pope of Alexandria it will no sin to loot a heretic’s church!” said Prometheus with a grin.

“You may plunder all you want but the French are siting big
nachtigall
siege guns in each of the three abbeys opposite our lines and we must make sure these nightingales never sing,” said Thomas but that was only part of the reason for the attack. Besides protecting his camp, Lannoy needed to exchange messages with the beleaguered garrison inside Pavia so the raid would be accompanied by a thirty Spanish
ginetes
, light horsemen skilled in irregular warfare.

“This all well and good but does it have to be us?” complained Quintana.

“We’ve been chosen because The Devil’s Band needs to be baptised in blood but don’t worry, have you forgotten I bear a charmed life?” said Thomas and the others laughed.

To allow the men time to prepare for the attack, those in the raiding party were excused other duties for the rest of the day and after an afternoon spent sharpening weapons and sleeping, the entire force began to assemble in the imperial trenches closest to the Five Abbeys. Most of the men were armed with swords or halberds but each
company’s captain also carried several long cloth bags tied around their waists and a pair of lighted slow matches tucked into their hat bands. Quintana asked what these were for but Thomas would only grin and insist that the Portugee be patient.

An hour after sunset the Duke of Bourbon ordered his captains to form their men into a skirmish line that could move quickly and silently over broken ground and whilst this was being done there was a huge explosion from the direction of the
Porta Levrieri
. Bourbon had learned many lessons whilst leading the failed siege of Marseille and he’d arranged for a diversionary artillery barrage to bombard the deer park’s eastern gate. The detonation of the mine was the signal for a cacophony of cannon fire to erupt from the imperial gun positions, tongues of flame spat from the earthworks and the air was filled with the whine of iron shot speeding towards the enemy.

Though the imperial guns’ target was far to the left of the men waiting in the trenches, each raider ducked instinctively as the cannon and culverin balls sped on their way. When the guns drew breath to reload, Bourbon gave the word and the
landsknechts
scrambled clumsily out of their trenches. The Spanish horsemen galloped away and were quickly lost in the darkness leaving the men on foot to pick their way through the palisades and pits full of sharpened stakes that protected their own camp. Five minutes later, with hearts beating, swords drawn and skin sticky with sweat, the raiders reached the Vernavola river that flowed between the French and imperial lines.

The diversion had worked better than Bourbon dared hope and whilst the Swiss rushed more men to the
Porta Levrieri
in expectation of an attack, the raiding party found an undefended bridge over the Vernavola and crossed to the dead ground between the
Torretta
gate and the Five Abbeys. The guns they had to destroy were in the monasteries of San Giacomo, San Spirito and San Paolo and from here the raiders could attack each abbey’s lightly defended western gateway. Thomas and The Devil’s Band were ordered to capture the abbey of San Paolo but in the gloomy light of a winter’s moon, the darkened abbey looked more like a castle than a House of God.

San Paolo’s cloisters were surrounded by a high wall of red brick, topped by swallowtail battlements of white limestone, the octagonal turrets at each corner were pierced by loopholes and the entrance was barred by heavy wooden gates protected by a similarly fortified gatehouse. The Devil’s Band had brought ladders but rather than risk scaling the walls Thomas decided on a bold
ruse de guerre
. He formed his men into a column, marched them openly along the road from Pavia and as they approached the abbey’s gatehouse he shouted to the sentries, in his best French, that he was bringing reinforcements to help repulse an imminent attack.

The darkness, the continuing imperial barrage and the fact that Thomas’ shouts came from a direction supposedly occupied by friendly forces, duped the Swiss sentries completely. They opened the gates and even urged the new arrivals to hurry and join them on the walls facing the imperial lines. Scarcely able to believe his luck, Thomas
waved his falchion and four hundred
landsknechts
poured into the abbey like molten metal running into a mould. The Swiss defenders suddenly realised their catastrophic mistake and tried to bar the way but it was too late.

The men of Bos and Prometheus’
rotten
cut down the sentries trying close the gates whilst Thomas and Quintana led the rest of the raiders further into the abbey. The Germans had a special loathing for their Swiss counterparts and slaughtered the sleeping
reisläufer
wherever they found them. Within minutes, the monastery’s cloisters and dormitories became filled with the screams of the wounded and dying but Thomas and Quintana ignored these skirmishes and led a squad of thirty men to the open square in front of the monastery’s chapel.

A few yards to left of the chapel’s bell tower, the Swiss gunners had demolished three sections of the abbey’s outer wall and built a long platform of wood and tamped earth behind these openings. The platform measured roughly a hundred feet long by twenty wide, with steeply sloping sides rising eight feet high. The flat top of this low, truncated pyramid had been covered with thick planks of oak that supported three heavy
nachtigall
cannon each weighing sixty hundredweight. The guns’ ornately patterned muzzles projected through embrasures protected by earth-filled, wicker gabions and the iron shot was arranged in neat piles behind each brightly painted carriage. The cannons’ powder however was stored in covered wagons parked some yards away from the platform.

A dozen Swiss gunners were sheltering behind the powder wagons but Thomas ordered his men to show
them no mercy. The
landsknechts
gleefully charged their foes, who defended themselves gallantly with axes and the short gunners’ pikes called linstocks, but the raiders had surprise and numbers on their side. The Germans swarmed around each wagon and the Swiss gunners died in a chorus of guttural battle cries but in answer to their comrades’ tortured screams, fifty more
reisläufer
came running out of the abbey’s church.

As he carried a small keg of powder onto the platform, Thomas saw the danger and shouted to his men to hold off the Swiss counterattack whilst he spiked the guns. His men rushed to obey and the square in front of the chapel’s bell tower rapidly became a vision of Armageddon. Elsewhere, the raiders had set fire to the abbey and the burning buildings illuminated the small knots of men fighting desperately for their lives. Swords splintered skulls, halberds sliced off limbs, pikes pierced bellies and though the men of The Devil’s Band fought like demons, two Swiss halberdiers managed to cut their way through the melee and climb the steps to the gun platform.

Quintana pursued the Swiss but, before he could cut them down, the first
reisläufer
fell on Thomas, who was busy trying to break open his keg of powder. Quintana shouted a warning just in time, the Englishman ducked behind the nearest gun carriage and his attacker’s blade bit into the painted wood instead of his skull. In one swift movement, Thomas had drawn his sword, rolled under the carriage and leapt to his feet before the Swiss halberdier had wrenched his weapon free.

The Englishman’s vicious backhand cut caught his opponent on the side of the head and the falchion sliced through human bone as easily as a butcher’s cleaver. A bloody chunk of skin and skull went spiralling into the night as the dead man, gore pouring down his lifeless face, slumped over the gun carriage. As soon as he was sure the first
reisläufer
was dead, Thomas turned to look for his second attacker and saw the man lunge at Quintana just as the Portugee clambered onto the platform.

With a litheness learned in the backstreets of Lisbon, Quintana parried the blow with his sword but the Swiss was also no beginner and he managed to trap his enemy’s
katzbalger
in the angle between his halberd’s axe blade and spear point. With a sharp twist, the
reisläufer’s
wrenched the sword from Portugee’s hand and it clattered to the floor. Quintana, who was now defenceless, took a step backwards but found himself trapped against another of the guns. The Swiss halberdier grinned maliciously as he prepared to spit his opponent like a suckling pig but his cry of victory turned into a choking gurgle of defeat as Thomas’ plunged his falchion between the man’s shoulder blades.

“I am in your debt Englishman,” said Quintana as the dead
reisläufer
fell at his feet.

“And I yours Portugee but we can repay each other by blowing these guns back to Basel,” said Thomas retrieving his sword. He thrust the falchion into his belt before untying the long cloth bags wrapped around his waist and handing them to Quintana. When the Portugee did nothing but stare at the slender sacks in confusion, Thomas
told him to fill them with gunpowder from the keg and stuff them into each gun whilst he piled the rest of the powder barrels around the carriages.

Though there was still fighting in other parts of the abbey, the brief but bloody battle of the bell tower had been won and Thomas found his men searching corpses for gold. Unfortunately, the Swiss must have left their florins inside the chapel they’d been using as a barracks as none of the dead men provided anything in the way of loot. Thomas therefore had no trouble persuading the empty handed
landsknechts
to give up their search and help him wedge as many powder barrels as they could under each gun.

Having filled the bags with powder, Quintana rammed them into the guns’ breeches and for good measure, packed each muzzle with mud and stones. After priming the touchholes Thomas laid a thin trail of powder along the top of each guns’ barrels, taking care to make each fuse slightly longer than the last. Snatching up a gunner’s linstock, Thomas ordered his men to take cover and wound the lighted match he carried his hat around the linstock’s metal crosspiece. Finally he said a silent prayer to St Barbara, touched the glowing end of the match to each fuse in turn and ran for his life.

With his heart thumping in his chest, Thomas joined his men behind a low wall and watched the sparks on top the guns dance towards the breeches. Slowly each flame crept ever closer to its touchhole then, almost together, the sparks disappeared. For a heartbeat Thomas thought the fuses had been extinguished by the damp night air
but in the next instant the coal black sky was shattered by an ear splitting crash and the abbey was lit up by a pillar of boiling fire. In the orange glow, Thomas saw the guns’ silhouettes, their massive muzzle burst asunder, rise from their carriages and tumble backwards as if they were no heavier than apple blossom blown across a farmyard.